


in the neon

by writedeku



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: (because we dont know how it ends lol), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Canon Asexual Character, Dealing with Emotions, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jughead needs a hug, M/M, Pining, Teen Up and Audiences only for swear words, and general teen speak, and mentions of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9714818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writedeku/pseuds/writedeku
Summary: “I missed you,” Archie says, his voice a mere whisper in the diner. “Even though I hardly thought about you.”“You were going to make up for it, but then you fell right down again,” Jughead flicks his straw at him. “Maybe you can start withI’m sorry, Jughead, for missing our long-planned road trip.Or,hey, Juggie, I’m totally bummed I ignored you the entire summer.You know.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! I just started Riverdale, it's amazing- will definitely write again once the series is complete huheuheu. Until then, enjoy! Also, a reminder that no matter how attractive KJ Apa or Cole Sprouse is, we're supposed to believe they're sophomores- which is sixteen. They're sixteen. What the fuck. I'm sixteen. I don't look anything like Veronica. I'm suing. 
> 
> Also, as for Juggie's asexuality- I chose to believe that he would still be into kissing and making out, and reciprocating- in the sense he has no problem engaging in sexual acts, just he does not get off on it. If I am not wrong, this falls under the asexual spectrum. That being said, this is from research- I am not asexual, so please do let me know if I've miswrote anything.

In the middle of the night, Jughead Jones looks at the sky and realises that a car could hit him right now and it would be okay. He does not think he would even move out of the way, shocked, heart-racing. If reflexes kicked in and he found himself at the side of the pavement, his hands shaking, eyes wide-  the shouts of an angry redneck ringing in his ears- he will probably be disappointed. He will probably be annoyed with himself that his body wants to exist when his mind doesn’t.

It is unfortunate then, that the car that pulls up is not one of a drunken man, but one that belongs to a boy with a shock of red hair burnt by the orange streetlamps. The window winds down, “what are you doing in the middle of the road?”

Archie watches him with barely disguised affection and curiosity. Jughead would tell anyone who would listen that he in no way deserves to be looked at like that, that he in no way deserves this kind of unconditional treatment.

“I missed the pavement and couldn’t be bothered,” Jughead tells him. He feels like he’s dancing on a sea of skulls every time he talks to Archie, walking a fine line between acquaintance and friend and ex-friend.

Archie leans over and opens the door to the passenger’s seat. The car is clean; Archie takes as good care of his ride as he can while being a teenager. Jughead looks at the road he could be walking, but then Archie smiles, sweet and blindingly good- it makes the distress in his eyes all the more apparent, the guilt that weighs him down all the more opaque. Jughead gets into the car.

They drive off without a word; Jughead splays his fingers out on the dash and counts every streetlamp they pass until Archie says, “I’m hungry.”

Archie doesn’t lie, he’s never had a cause to. His body speaks the truth, hard lines of righteousness and nobility pre-programmed into his genetic code have etched themselves into the curve of his neck and shoulders. Jughead tips his head to look at him through his fringe. “I could go for a milkshake.”

Archie’s face betrays his emotions- surprise and glee flit across his features in seconds, clearly, he did not expect him to agree. At the next turn, he makes a sharp left.

* * *

Entering Pops always makes him feel temporary- as though he is but a visitor in this neon world of greasy food- where everything always goes bang, where there is always the constant sound of someone opening a soda can- the fizz over the din of the constant chatter and jazz music like it was the sum of the place. Pops felt like the gateway to another dimension where he was less real and more Jughead.

Archie looks right at home, with his honey eyes and his easy, laid-back smile, his broad shoulders and muscular hands, he is the epitome of the American Dream- he all but sinks into the booth, as though each seat has recognised the touch of this boy and relishes in it. Jughead fiddles with a napkin, because wherever Archie is accepted, he is but tolerated- Archie is the neon and the striped straws and red leather- Jughead is the shadows where the harsh lighting doesn’t reach, the bathroom you don’t enter, the trash bins behind the diner.

Archie orders him a double chocolate milkshake and sticks to vanilla for himself, and then the two lapse into a silence just bordering on comfortable, yet stiff enough to warrant Jughead to think about jumping through the window and running. Archie looks at him inquisitively, every angle of his body a question.

“I missed you,” Archie says, his voice a mere whisper in the diner. “Even though I hardly thought about you.”

“You were going to make up for it, but then you fell right down again,” Jughead flicks his straw at him. “Maybe you can start with _I’m sorry, Jughead, for missing our long-planned road trip._ Or,   _hey, Juggie, I’m totally bummed I ignored you the entire summer._ You know.”

Archie winces. “No- I- it was her, you know? Grundy, I mean. She took up- everything. I loved her- and-”

“She did not love you back,” Jughead deadpans, watching the shame colour Archie’s eyes. “She never did. You want to know what I think of Grundy? I think she’s a fucking bitch.”

Archie’s hand clenches on the glass, so hard his knuckles turn white. Pop’s ware, however, is made of something stronger than steel- Jughead has tried throwing them on the floor and they all but bounced- and so Archie tires quickly of the movement.

“She’s the worst person on this planet, including the person who killed Jason- and you wanna know why? Because I think you’re avoiding the word. Let’s start. Repeat after me,” Jughead taps the table with every word, punctuating, accentuating his sentence with all the disgust he could muster. “She. Manipulated. A. You were probably underage, yes? Underage. Student. Into. Having. Sex. With. Her. You got that? A stone-cold manipulative psycho.”

Archie seems doubled over with the weight of his self-hatred. Jughead would try to sympathise, say, _oh yes, I know what you’re talking about when you youngins get all horny and all self-control flies out of the window_ , but he doesn’t understand, because he’s never felt that way.

He thinks the only sexual attraction he’s ever had was when he was thirteen and while on a roadtrip had eaten the most beautiful and best-tasting pizza in the world, amen. Of course, Archie knows this, Archie guessed this, he can see it in his eyes when the boys start talking girls, all the questions and no answers and acceptance contained within the honey.

“I still feel like- I could’ve realised it sooner,” Archie says

“Most people who’ve been abused say that too,” Jughead has finished his milkshake. Only the foam remains, and it taunts him. He could finish that, but chocolate milkshake foam always tastes like someone had dumped a ton of cocoa powder into lukewarm water. “And you’ve been abused, man.”

Archie tilts his head back, and the red neon catches on the pale skin of his throat.

* * *

 

The drive to Jughead’s house is more comfortable now. He feels free to look at the way the orange streetlamps light up Archie’s hair, outlines all the curves and angles of him, the veins on his hands as he holds the steering wheel ten two like a good boy. Archie pulls up like Jughead’s always liked, at the back entrance, because the back door has the key under the flowerpot and Jughead always forgets his keys. Archie never forgot, did he? Archie never-

“Come up,” Jughead says, uncharacteristically impulsive. His hand pauses on the door, his whole body tight. It’s one in the morning. Come up, Archie. Come on up. He doesn’t know what he’d do should Archie refuse.

Archie’s breathing stops. He can hear the silence in his ears, feel it press against him like something tangible. Then, Archie turns off the engine. The car quiets down- and he opens the door and gets out, one hand on his phone, presumably telling his dad he’s spending the night. Jughead stares at the dash, forces down the bubble of nerves, and gets out too.

Jughead opens the door and steps back to let Archie in first. Hot Dog leaps at him- _where have you been_ \- and the world spins. He feels so out of balance and tune with the universe. It is going against him, yet his house welcomes Archie like a family welcomes a soldier home.

The stairs creak under Archie’s new weight, it never used to do that before. Archie used to be small and nerdy, but newfound confidence seems to have pushed him up, made himself broader- perhaps then, his smallness was not physical but mental. He feels alienated in his own home, and as he pushes open the door with that same trepidation, Archie steps inside and basks himself in the overwhelming room that is Jughead, from the plaid sheets to the messy chair stacked with dirty clothes, to the posters on the wall, taped on haphazardly.

Now that he is here, Jughead has no idea what to do. It seems that his plans have just ended here because he never expected this day to go anywhere but down. Archie sits down on his bed- king sized, because one thing Jughead demands is beauty sleep- and flops back. His shirt rides up, showing the bare taut skin of his stomach, the v line most men would kill for.  

Jughead sits gingerly at the edge of the other side and only lies down after a raised eyebrow from his…friend. The silence is now comfortable and Jughead relaxes more into the bed until the tension is gone from his shoulders and the crease between his eyes dissolves.

“I am sorry I bailed on you,” Archie says honestly. He reeks sadness and regret. “Do you know that? I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve it.”

I don’t deserve you, Jughead wants to say. I never deserved you.

Instead he says, “all I wanted, man.”

The glow in the dark stars they stuck on the ceiling together what seemed like ages ago smile down at him gently. They tell him the world is wide- so wide, immensely, utterly bigger than it seems, and they say it’s big enough for the both of them to exist- side by side.

* * *

Jughead wakes up sometime later curled in on himself in his bed, and Archie is nowhere to be seen. A pang of annoyance pains him, fills him with darkness and negativity, until he sees a patch of red on his floor and he realises he must have kicked Archie off in the middle of the night. He tends to do that- but Archie seems to have made himself comfortable on the floor, even taking the blanket and a pillow down with him. No wonder Jughead is freezing. He tries tugging the blanket from his grasp, but Archie only sleepily says, “if you want you come down here too.”

Jughead considers this before rolling off the bed and crashing ungracefully on top of the redhead who merely groans and rolls to the side so Jughead falls over. Archie is warm, he feels like a summer’s day, but Jughead shoves him aside to reach for the blankets, even though just sleeping next to him is warm enough as is. He doesn't give much thought to the fact that this might become something of a sexual nature, he is Jughead and so worries little, if at all about sex.

He wakes up again at what must be ten in the morning- golden light shines through the gaps in his curtains- nestled against Archie’s strong chest. He isn't overly concerned with this, he had always grabbed whatever he wanted and taken it, and right now he wanted this- comfort, safety, the feeling of his ex-friend next to him.

“Awake?” Archie asks drowsily, his eyes still shut. “Was wondering when you would. Didn't want to disturb you.”

Jughead doesn't want to move, but societal conventions were against him and he’d already broken many rules with those two words hours ago, so he got up, stretched, and tried to look removed. He failed, because looking at Archie splayed out on the floor brought a half-smile to his face, and the contentment which he must've brought across made Archie grin with delight.

It's a chaotic, messy thing, it's always been, loose Jughead and validated Archie. The air seems charged now, with the domesticity of their awakening, as though waiting for something to happen. What that something is, Jughead can't say.

Archie seems to have felt the static in the air because his eyes darken, and the corner of his mouth quirks up. People forget sometimes. They take this good, Hufflepuff Archie Andrews for granted. Jughead has known Archie- _the_ Archie, the ones he squirrels away under layers of goodwill and intentions for ages. Archie has the capacity in him to be a Reggie Mantle, a Jason Blossom, a Chuck Clayton- and it's a testament of his good character that he chooses not to. But when Archie gets this look in his eyes, the fire- it almost makes Jughead feel excited.

He dispels the air by standing up and throwing Archie an old shirt he left emotional aeons ago, and the sentiment that Jughead had kept it- why did he? Jughead himself does not know- distracts Archie sufficiently.

They troop noisily downstairs. Jughead makes chocolate chip pancakes- Archie’s favourite- and Archie pours apple juice into Jughead’s favourite cup. They stare at each other while they do it, each stunned that the other person remembers.

Jughead wants to scream that he's never forgotten because he's never wanted to, that he never wanted to lose Archie to the wind- but he forces it down like a pill he can't swallow and flips the pancakes over.

Archie takes this moment to hug Jughead from behind which makes him yelp. “What are you doing?”

“We’re not hugging in front of the whole town,” Archie parrots. Jughead can almost feel the smirk he has on. “The whole town isn't here.”

“You know I don’t like hugs.”

“You don’t like physical contact,” Archie shrugs. He puts his forehead on Jug’s shoulder and smiles. “Or so you say.”

Jug would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the hug, but he had appearances to keep up and he couldn’t flip the pancakes and he couldn’t oh god he couldn’t let Archie hold him like this because he starts thinking of a life where he basks in the neon glow of Pop’s instead of hiding from it- he shrugs Archie off like an unwanted coat.

Archie doesn’t take it personally. He swipes one of the finished pancakes and eats it with his hands, and soon they fall rapidly into that process of eating a pancake as soon as it is finished, leaving Hot Dog to gleefully lick up the crumbs.

“Should we come in for afternoon lessons?” Archie asks, a sort of tenderness to his face as he looks at Jughead rinse the pans.

“Dude, you know my answer. Why are you asking?”

Archie shrugs. “You might’ve gotten a work ethic over the summer- which appears to have been a waste of time for you.”

“I got paid, did you?”

“I got paid in abs of _steel_ ,” Archie flexes for show. Jughead tries not to cringe and fails. “Which, I’ll have you know, has gotten me three propositions from three different girls that _aren’t_ Betty or Veronica.”

“Yeah well, you’re into that,” Jughead shrugs. “I’d sooner stick my dick into apple juice. Least that would be interesting.”

It’s his first real acknowledgement of something that he has that Archie doesn’t have, but there’s no comment on it, no “so you’re really asexual huh?” Archie laughs and says, “I think it’ll sting,” and that’s it. He feels immensely grateful for this small town boy with big dreams and a bigger heart- though the trouble with the latter is that big hearts leave more room for bad things.

Later, they play Diablo and Mario Kart- which Jughead wins so often Archie takes to praying noisily before each game- and when the sun starts going down they sit on his roof and they talk about something inane probably, until all the conversations blur into one until he can hardly recall when what happened.

In the grainy darkness of an almost set sun, Jughead wants to kiss him.  He sees this as clearly as he sees the orange streetlamp across the road. He wants to kiss Archie silly, all over his face and his body, which confuses him. He doesn’t want to fuck him, but he wants to kiss him and hold his hand and watch the school fail to comprehend that _Archie_ and _Jughead_ are a thing. A thing thing.

He isn’t sure when he started wanting. Was it this morning? Last night, where “come up” was a gamble against some deity that had it out for him, was it when Archie bailed on their road trip and he’d sat in his room and ached, oh, how he ached, he thought the walls would bend from his loneliness and fear that losing Archie, once a distant nightmare he couldn’t bear to think of, was suddenly here and insistent.

He knows what he wants- and he also knows this is the one thing he’d never dare to take.

* * *

 

The next day, Archie slaps his back when he sees him in the hallway, a “hey dude” soft on his lips.

It makes Jughead feel like he has the world in his hands.

When he gets home- on time, for once, his room still smells like Archie, as though even his scent had to pervade every inch of his room, every square of fabric- Archie had to linger, even after he was gone, he had to occupy all the spaces Jughead had. He opens the window, but hours later, he can still get a faint wisp of his friend.

* * *

 

Jughead’s taken to waking up early to sit in on Archie’s music lessons. It makes Grundy feel unnerved, of course, yet it makes Archie relieved, and so he continues to interject occasionally with sardonic humour that makes Archie laugh, and spends the rest of his time writing for his novel.

They bail on math once after, go to Pop’s and grabs milkshakes again and Archie talks about his big big dreams that cannot be contained to Riverdale, and Jughead loves the way the world seems to narrow till it’s just the two of them in the neon.

* * *

 

He’s sitting in Archie’s room, going over biology notes for tomorrow’s test, but he’s more distracted by the smell of Archie in the room- it smells nice. He couldn’t really make out what it smelt like, his cologne, his soap, but it was a culmination of everything. Archie asks him, “so what makes up DNA?”

Jughead says, “d and n and a.”

Archie glares at him from over his book and relents when he sees Jughead’s teasing face, crossing the room in long strides to sit next to him. He looks at Jughead, seemingly lost, so Jughead feels the compulsion to stretch in a way he knew would be attractive; to let his shirt ride up. He sees the honey swirl and feels triumphant. Archie being bisexual was something he’d guessed the same way Archie guessed his asexuality- that boy would sleep with anything that offered, genders aside.

“Do you think we can use Jason’s death as a way to get out of the biology test?”

“No,” Archie shrugs. “Maybe a week earlier.”

“Shit,” the words on the paper swim before Jughead. “I’m hungry.”

“As always, Juggie,” Archie laughs lies down next to him. They’re touching now, shoulder to shoulder, bare arm to bare arm. “Let’s play truth or dare instead.”

“What are you, five?” Jughead’s face twists with distaste.

“Oh, and I suppose you have a better things to do?”

Make out. Jughead’s decided he would like the idea of making out with Archie. He finds the idea of getting Archie aroused very appealing. He finds the idea of getting Archie off very appealing indeed. He thinks, however, that reciprocation is entirely unnecessary. He’s becoming slightly confused with this whole sexuality thing. He chooses to suggest to himself that he’s an asexual that wouldn’t mind having sex with someone he liked very much, exhibit a, Archie, but he wouldn’t particularly miss it either. He doesn’t need it in the way Archie and the rest of the boys do- and honestly, the thought of having sex for the sake of having sex, like Reggie’s list of one night stands, makes him feel sick.

“Fine. I pick truth.”

“Tell me a random fact about you,” Archie rolls over to face him. They are comfortably close.

Jughead casts about himself for one that will satisfy Archie. “I didn’t think this would work,” he admits, gesturing to the two of them. “You hurt me real bad, Arch. I told myself I wouldn’t get involved again.”

“You didn’t think we would work?” Archie sounds incredulous. “We’re the best two, princess. We’re the two musketeers. We’re the-”

“You hurt me real fucking bad, Arch,” Jughead lets his voice colour with dislike. Archie quietens down. “School had started and you still didn’t look at me. It was like I wasn’t even there.”

“I was a shitty friend,” Archie murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix it,” Jughead smiles painfully. “Someone should tell you that.”

“I’m trying to make it up to you,” Archie spreads his hands. “Something more tangible. Something more _this is how I feel_.”

“How do you feel?”

“Stupidly happy we’re friends again,” Archie says, his goofy grin lighting up the room. “Seriously, stupidly happy. It feels like I’ve been missing this part of me.”

Jughead doesn’t deal with sentiment well. It’s always clouded his vision, always eluded him. He feels it bubble up now though, from a depth he would call a heart. Impossible. Jughead Jones was voted most likely to die alone.

“You ever think about more, though?” Jughead asks, and immediately wishes for a swift death. Archie props himself up on one hand and looks so much like pinup that Jughead feels uncomfortable.

“More?” His voice is low and dangerous. His very tone contains warnings. They are sixteen, for crying out loud. They are sixteen and they know nothing of the world, except that death comes fast for those deserving of it. No one in the school would say it, but everyone knew that if someone had to die, Jason Blossom was the one most people would not miss, even considering Jughead. Archie would’ve missed Jughead.

“More,” Jughead casts about vaguely. “Like...best friends.”

“Shut up,” Archie rolls his eyes. “You shut up right now.”

Jughead rolls to face him. The honey is the darkest he’s seen. It makes him feel alive.

“What more are you thinking about now, Arch?” His eyes are halflidded, his words slow. “You know I can’t give you what you want. Well, I could- but there would be no reciprocation for you.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, dear Archie, I might suck you off if I feel like it, but you won’t get to do that to me. You won’t get to fuck me, or suck me, or jack me. Purely onesided,” his fingers find Archie’s face, and he drags the pads of his fingers against his lips. “Even with an erection. I can’t control that.”

“For someone with no sexual attraction, you’re doing a fantastic job at eliciting it right now,” Archie whispers. “And for the record, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Oh please. Sex is as important as- I don’t know, breathing, for fuck’s sake.”

“You’re as important as breathing,” Archie says simply, so mildly that Jughead nearly implodes. “I would give up anything for you.”

“Big words, Archiekins. We’re sixteen,” Jughead sits up and casts angrily about the room.

They are. They are sixteen and they are so  _young_ to be making these kinds of declarations of love. They are sixteen and in a murder investigation and Jughead is  _Jughead_ , damnit, he's the scripted outcast- he fills the role of moody teenager in plaid and black, the one the jocks pick on, not the ones they fall in love with. In this moment, he hated being so stereotypical. His life could from this moment on be a romcom for all he knew.

“So we have time to try,” Archie sits up too and puts his hand on turns his face to him. There’s mere inches between them.

“We used to be purely platonic. Now I’m supposed to believe you want a relationship?”

“I lost you,” he says. “I lost you, and in the hallways I would see you, crown and all, squeezing through the gaps of the students, sticking to the back of the class, and I remember thinking that I got complacent that I had you, that I could never lose you because you were always _mine_. I take it back, I can lose you as easily as people can die and lights go out,” Archie tilts his head at him. “Never again.”

Jughead snorts. “Poetic, for a jock.”

“I write music,” Archie says, wounded. “I’m extremely poetic.”

The other laughs, and looks at him sort of shyly out of the corner of his eyes. Then he turned his face and leans in to kiss him softly, a close-mouthed, chapped lips kiss.

“Was that okay?” Archie asks concernedly. “I really don’t know when I’ll be overstepping my bounds.”

“I’ll tell you,” Jughead whispers, and leans in again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment if you want another.
> 
> Tumblr: starkmagnus
> 
> UPDATE: a lot of you have been asking for more of this. while I do not have plans to continue from this fic, I do have a separate Jug/Archie fic you can check out! here is the link: [to be alone (with you)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10818300). happy reading and thank you for all the positive feedback!


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